Nostalgia

It breaks down into nost-algia, nost from "nostos" meaning "return home" and algia meaning "pain". The pain you feel when you think of returning home. That aching sensation. Mine got all fixed up last week (nosteuphoria?) and I managed to not get too hot or sunburned in the ninety degree weather that's really quite lovely compared to its Chicago analogue. Aside from the farmer's market, pounds of fresh fruit every day, laundry and meal service, people I like, there's the Rose Bowl. I've never been in, but it's surrounded by horse trails that stretch all the way from downtown LA to a waterfall up in the mountains. (The one time I made it all the way up there - my only run on the books over 8 miles - I was sorely disappointed to find out that the water comes out of a concrete slab and is terribly man-made. I think it's dammed. But the run up is lovely. Maybe I'll go on Christmas.) I know the trails and the distances and the elevation changes - want 3 miles with a hill? 3 miles without a hill? I can do that for you.

So I set out on Thursday to do my 8 intervals, trying to pick the right distance. I'm up to 4 for 7x so this would be farther. Why not go all the way around? It was farther, but it was also one of my favorite runs in high school, and the sort of thing that makes you feel good about yourself for doing it and good in general - you get to have the dry dusty parts, the little cliff with the cacti, the green hills by the rich houses and the golf course, the stream crossings by the dam, and occasionally you see rabbits (exciting wildlife for a city girl). So I went out for it. And after about 3 intervals I knew that it was too far for the day's run. I was feeling a bit sluggish (my legs stayed confused all week about the lack of utterly flat terrain) and I wasn't close to halfway around yet. But there was a fellow running a bit behind me, and I didn't want him to catch up. He had hopped onto the trail just after I started my first interval so I passed him shortly and put in some distance. But his speed was fast enough that about 2 minutes later he caught up again, and asked me if anything was wrong (quite a difference in speed). I told him I alternated for my workout and he nodded and kept going. So on the second interval I passed him again. And stayed ahead on the third. But on the fourth he caught up (due to my bad timing - I lost track of time looking at the trees and rested an extra minute) and then I couldn't catch up on the 5th (I cut a minute off that recovery to get back track) - the stream crossings take some deliberate stepping unless you just splat your way through and don't mind your shoes getting a bit wet. I do mind. But he was in sight. On the sixth I was so close to catching him again that I knew I would on the seventh for sure, but he turned off the trail and up a hill. So I went down again, crossed the roads, ran the base of the Washington hill and wondered if he'd be coming down the other side. Seventh and eighth finished up and I just had about 3/4 to cool down back to the car. And I was tired. The sun was getting warm and I was off the trails - around the front lawn of the Rose Bowl which is daunting in its expanse, especially when you're tired and the sprinklers are on. I could feel myself slowing down (but hey, we're in extra minutes here...) when I hear "I guess I found you again" over my shoulder and there he is, cruising past. I think I know where he parked - slightly forked off from me, but after at least half a mile of what I have left. So I let him pull me along. And we go - me in his footsteps, or at least trying, dodging sprinklers, the bits of asphalt and the drainage grates. At the fork he's 20 feet ahead. He turned around to peek (for me?) a few seconds earlier and there I was. But I saw a break in the traffic and dashed off to follow the storm drains down to the aquatic center and my car. If he turns around again, I wonder if he'll wonder what happened. And I'll wonder if he knew how much he helped me on my longest run of the last 7 years. 47 minutes, 5 miles.